Blue lock: Reborn Egoist

The sun dipped lower over the training grounds, casting long shadows as Eito finished his cooldown drills. His muscles ached from the intensity of the scrimmage, but his mind was more restless than ever. Sayuri's words had settled deep inside him, lingering like an itch he couldn't scratch.

The best strikers don't just react to chances—they create them.

He had always focused on raw skill—his speed, his power, his ability to finish plays with absolute precision. But had he ever truly controlled a match? Had he dictated the flow of play the way the greatest strikers did?

Eito exhaled sharply, rubbing the back of his neck as he walked toward the benches. Sayuri was still there, arms crossed, watching him.

"You're still thinking about it, aren't you?" she asked, a small smirk tugging at the corner of her lips.

Eito sat down, running a towel over his face before glancing at her. "I get what you're saying, but that's not my job. I'm a striker—I score goals."

Sayuri tilted her head slightly, studying him. "And what happens when you're marked out of a game? What happens when defenders shut you down completely? If all you know how to do is score, what do you do when you can't?"

Eito didn't respond right away. He hated to admit it, but she had a point.

"You're fast, and powerful, and your instincts are sharp," Sayuri continued. "But your game is still too predictable. What if, instead of just looking for a goal, you made defenders react to you? What if you forced them into situations where they had to choose between covering you or giving up space somewhere else?"

Eito leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. "You're saying I should play like a midfielder?"

Sayuri shook her head. "No. You should think like one. Play like a striker, but think beyond just finishing. If you learn how to dictate the flow of a match, you won't just be a goal-scorer—you'll be a weapon."

Eito considered her words. He thought about the game earlier, how he had dropped back to pull defenders out of position, how it had opened up space for him to score.

Maybe she was onto something.

Before he could respond, a familiar voice interrupted them.

"Are you done with your lecture, Sayuri?"

Eito turned to see Anri Teieri approaching, clipboard in hand. She shot her sister a knowing look before turning to Eito.

"I came to let you know that Ego wants to see you."

Eito raised an eyebrow. "Right now?"

Anri nodded. "He said it's important."

Eito stood up, tossing his towel onto the bench. Whatever Ego wanted, it had to be big.

"Guess I'll see you around," Sayuri said, her expression unreadable.

Eito hesitated for a second before nodding. "Yeah."

With that, he followed Anri out of the training grounds, his mind still turning over Sayuri's words.

Jinpachi Ego's Office

The atmosphere inside Ego's office was as suffocating as ever. The dim lights, the wall of monitors displaying endless data, and the ever-present, calculating stare of his father made the room feel like the heart of a machine.

Eito stood across from the desk, waiting for Ego to speak.

"You've improved," Ego finally said, his voice as sharp as ever. "Your speed, power, and technique have all reached the level of an elite striker. And yet—" He leaned forward slightly, his eyes narrowing. "You're still lacking something."

Eito frowned. "Lacking what?"

Ego tapped a few keys on his keyboard, bringing up footage of Eito's recent matches. The screen split into multiple angles of his play—his goals, his movements, his decision-making.

"You score, but you don't control," Ego said. "You dominate in short bursts, but you don't dictate the game. A true egoist doesn't wait for opportunities—he creates them. Right now, you're still just reacting."

Eito clenched his jaw. It was almost word-for-word what Sayuri had told him.

"I take it Sayuri has been getting in your head?" Ego mused, smirking slightly.

Eito exhaled. "She made some points."

Ego's smirk widened. "Good. Because she's right."

Eito's hands curled into fists. "So what do I do?"

Ego leaned back in his chair, staring at his son with that calculating gaze. "You evolve."

Another set of footage appeared on the screens—clips of the greatest strikers in football history. But instead of just goals, the footage focused on their movement before the goal. The way they pulled defenders, the way they forced teams to react to them rather than the other way around.

"Positioning," Ego said. "Control. Manipulation. That's what separates a great striker from the best in the world."

Eito watched intently. He saw how these players didn't just move to receive the ball—they dictated how the game flowed around them.

For the first time, Eito saw something new.

Something beyond just scoring.

Ego turned off the monitors. "From now on, your training will change. We're going to focus on turning you from a reactive striker into a dominant one. A player who doesn't just score but controls the game itself."

Eito felt his pulse quicken. A new challenge. A new evolution.

He met his father's gaze. "When do we start?"

Ego smirked. "Now."